


Flowerpots and Window Panes

by imfallingforyoureyes102



Series: On the Outside Looking In [12]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Eventual Oliver Queen/Felicity Smoak, F/M, Fluff, French Toast, Mutual Pining, Oneshot, Season 2 Olicity, Slow Burn, Tooth Rotting Fluff, feel good, mama smoak - Freeform, outside looking in, playful oliver queen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-21
Updated: 2020-03-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:41:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23243428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imfallingforyoureyes102/pseuds/imfallingforyoureyes102
Summary: Felicity's heart nearly stops when she rams straight into a steady wall. It does stop, though, totally and completely, when she looks up and it’s Oliver fracking Queen staring down at her with a nervous grin and crinkled eyes.“Did you just dive through my window?”“I did not dive, okay, I was in a rush - ,”“Did you just fracking throw your body - a body that is not small, by the way,” Felicity hisses, all emphatic fury and complete bewilderment, “Through my poor, teeny, tiny living room window? Again?”(Or, it's a Saturday morning when Felicity, her mother, and her cousins hear a sharp bang echo through the apartment. It's a certain billionaire CEO turned vigilante that slips through the window, but Felicity's more concerned about the flowerpots that Oliver most definitely destroyed on his way in than the billionaire himself.)
Relationships: Oliver Queen/Felicity Smoak
Series: On the Outside Looking In [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1319063
Comments: 61
Kudos: 360





	Flowerpots and Window Panes

**Author's Note:**

> Hola, so this is some completely random thing that happened. I had the general beginning of Oliver coming in through the window and hurting Felicity's flowers but hadn't really gotten past that. It's kinda random, but I hope you like it. 
> 
> In this, it takes place a few weeks/months after my fic Come to Me, My Sweetest Friend (I think it's in the We Mend Each Other Series, but idk) where Oliver's hurt and comes to Felicity's apartment on Thanksgiving. 
> 
> This isn't too much like the other fics in this series because there's less of an outsiders perspective, but I still thought it fit in here. 
> 
> On a different note, I hope all of you are staying healthy and safe during this COVID-19 pandemic. It's absolutely insane to see how quickly this virus is spreading as well as how extreme this pandemic is becoming. I hope you all are taking the necessary precautions - washing hands, social distancing, staying home, etc - when possible. I have family in different places of the globe and am hearing that this virus is hitting hard everywhere, in terms of finances, health, and societal norms. I know it's been emphasized multiple times, but even if you are young and resilient and healthy, PLEASE stay home. As we all know by now, asymptomatic individuals can still be carriers of the virus and risk infecting more people because they may not know they are infected. If we hunker down and get ahead of this, we can prevent prolonging this pandemic and avoidable deaths. 
> 
> My University just made the decision to go online for the rest of the semester and our research labs are shut and while I'm bummed about missing out on some of my college experience, I know that it is 100% for the best.
> 
> Please please please reach out if you need anything or just want to talk. I can't really do much more than donate/venmo donations but I want you guys to know that I'll do as much as I can to help if its needed. You guys are incredible and loyal and I love love love the relationships I've formed on this site. I love you guys and please stay safe!
> 
> Enjoy! And let me know what you think!
> 
> UPDATE: Here's the link for the story that precedes this one! It's in my other series _We Mend Each Other_. Check it out!
> 
> [Come to Me, My Sweetest Friend](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18112178)

“Felicity, I’m not saying you don’t look good in glasses,” Emmeline stresses for the fourth time as Aubrey flops forward on the countertop in exasperation. “I’m just saying that it wouldn’t kill you to pop in your contacts from time to time and -,

_BANG!_

Felicity jumps, her eyes snapping around her apartment trying to locate the source of the sound. It’s terrifying, she thinks, that her first few guesses include gun shots and super soldiers, but the fact that those options only send a light shiver down her spine is what really snaps the sentiment that her life is _so not normal_ into perspective.

The alarm bells in her head only last a second, though, because soon enough Emmeline is continuing her lecture with an upturned nose and pursed lips.

Felicity sighs, managing to squelch the laugh she feels bubbling up when she sees the huge eye roll Donna Smoak throws her way. Yes, Felicity and her mother may be polar opposites regarding the subjects of fashion, extracurriculars, and anything technology related, but when it comes to interacting with the famed Emmeline, both Smoak women have astonishingly identical opinions.

Donna’s eye roll turns far too comical when she sticks her tongue out and drags a finger across her throat and –

_BANG!_

The sound of slamming wood rings through the kitchen again, this time quieter, and Felicity and Donna share a look before the younger blonde turns towards the sound.

“Felicity - ,”

Donna, Aubrey, and Emmeline move to follow Felicity, but she waves off her mother’s warning, already tiptoeing towards the living room with a wonky spatula half raised in defense.

Her heart nearly stops when she rams straight into a steady wall, her nose scrunching against the hard surface. It does stop, though, totally and completely, when she looks up and it’s Oliver _fracking_ Queen staring down at her with a nervous grin and crinkled eyes.

His hair is laying the wrong way, his nose is blushed red from the swirl of wind that has picked up as autumn rolls in, and there’s a small smear of mud highlighting his left cheekbone that makes Felicity suspect that her small potted daisies on her window sill are no more.

It’s that last thought that has Felicity driving her brightly painted finger into Oliver’s chest.

“Did you just _dive_ through my window?”

“I did not _dive_ , okay, I was in a rush - ,”

“Did you just fracking throw your _body_. A body that is _not_ small, by the way,” Felicity hisses, all emphatic fury and complete bewilderment, “Through my poor, teeny, tiny living room window? _Again?”_

“I did not jump through your window, Felicity - ,”

“ _Oliver - ,”_

“I gracefully entered through it,” Oliver reasons matter-of-factly.

“Oh, I’ll show you graceful - ,”

“Was I going a bit faster than I should have been?” Oliver continues casually, an amused lilt in his voice as his shoulders pull up into a small shrug. “ _Sure_.”

Felicity’s glaring at him with much more aggression than one would generally deem normal for someone so tiny, and Oliver pauses slightly, tilting his head in contemplation before pressing his lips together tightly.

He takes in a measured breath before schooling his features.

 _Cool as a cucumber,_ Felicity would say.

Except he’s not.

He’s not as cool as a cucumber.

He’s a plant destroyer and a window squeezer through-er and a heart rate picker upper and Felicity _knows_ that that’s _so_ not cool, but he’s also still got some mud on his jaw and a blush across his cheeks and the way he’s looking at her makes her feel like pure sunlight.

Felicity can see the way the right side of his mouth quirks up a bit – can see the slight arch to Oliver’s eyebrow as his eyes dart from her to the window and back again almost sheepishly. His tells are quick, fleeting - imperceptible, really. Anybody else would have missed it.

But Felicity’s been around Oliver and his dumbass _bullshitery_ long enough to know _exactly_ what the next few words out of his mouth will be. 

“Okay, yeah. I also may have tripped over the flow-,”

Oliver’s eyes widen as Felicity whips the spatula in her hand against his shoulder with remarkable speed.

“ _Aye!”_ he yelps, more surprised than anything. The space between Oliver’s eyebrows crinkles as his mouth tugs in a small frown, and the accusatory look he gives her almost has her smiling. But then he rubs at his shoulder as if her attack had actually _hurt_ and she’s crossing her arms tightly over her chest and arching her own damn eyebrow.

Oliver has enough sense to look a bit reprimanded, but it’s entirely too short lived as he steadily plants his own feet and matches Felicity’s glare.

Felicity huffs haughtily, glancing unthinkingly towards her cousins with a “ _can you believe the audacity of this man”_ look stamped onto her face before turning around and _nailing_ Oliver’s other shoulder with her makeshift weapon.

Oliver lets out a surprised noise, opening his mouth to protest, but Felicity’s quicker to the punch and she steps forward, right up into his personal space, and jabs her finger into his stomach.

The action hurts her finger a lot more than it hurts him because _hello, abs of steel,_ but it’s the way he looks so _unaffected_ by her onslaught – so measured and calm and almost amused by the way she shakes out the sharp sting in her hand – that has her raising her spatula to swat at him again. 

Oliver raises up his arms in defense, trying earnestly to snatch the kitchen utensil from Felicity’s hand. “Hey, _hey_ I said I _may_ have - ,”

“Those. Were. My. Victory. Flowers!” Felicity snaps, a sharp whack punctuating each word, her face flushed and eyes vibrant.

Oliver smiles then, _really_ smiles – teeth and dimples and all – as he recalls Felicity’s smugness just the day before when she had _danced_ into the office chattering on and on about her green thumb and nurturing heart and _forget technology genius, I’m Mother-Freaking-Nature_.

“Victory flowers,” Oliver deadpans, his eyebrow arching sharply as he stares down at the blonde. His eyes drop lower for a split second, and when they snap back up to meet hers, there’s a certain fondness to his gaze that startles her.

Felicity stills instantly, eyes going wide as she realizes that she’s dressed in pajamas.

She can feel her ears turning red as she glances down at the dancing pandas that decorate her favorite pair of pajama pants– she can feel the flush that runs down her neck and chest as realizes that while she could care less about Emmeline’s snooty opinion about her choice in leisurewear, she cares a whole lot about the opinion of a certain billionaire CEO turned vigilante.

Felicity’s too busy staring down in horror at the cartoon sloths that decorate her socks to notice the gentle smile that pulls onto Oliver’s lips, but the women standing quietly in the entryway see it just fine.

Felicity’s stunning – her cousins both know that, despite how much Emmeline likes to claim the beauty guru status in the family. Hell, Donna Smoak is damn proud of how smart and talented and gorgeous her Felicity is. She’s got beauty and brains – a _lot_ of brains – and, yeah, there are dancing mammals on her pants and the tank top she’s wearing right now doesn’t exactly leave much to the imagination, but _so what._

The large man that stands before Felicity glances from her sloth socks to her dancing panda pants to the mortified expression that paints Felicity’s face and the only thing Donna Smoak can see in his eyes is adoration so soft and innocent that it takes her breath away.

Felicity’s eyes snap up towards Oliver, daring him to say something, but he just folds his arms across his chest and flashes her a brilliant smile, his head tilting in that half-amused way he seems to only do when he’s around her.

Felicity finds her own lips battling between pulling into a scowl or a smile.

“Felicity,” Oliver draws out slowly, his voice low and steady as he rocks slightly forward on his toes. “We both know that those flowers weren’t making it past the end of this week.”

Felicity’s eyebrows furrow dangerously.

Scowl it is then.

She advances forward quickly, oblivious to her small audience, and prods the spatula into Oliver’s chest. She’s threatening a tanked credit score and promising to sell his phone number to the press and _those flowers were growing perfectly, Oliver, you big dumb caveman_ , _I have a front door for a reason!_

Felicity shoves her spatula against him and Oliver takes an exaggerated step back, as if thrown off balance by her actions, even though the both of them know that Oliver’s only ever off balance if he chooses to be.

And it’s that movement – the dramatic step back and the way his eyebrows shoot up comically in mock surprise – that lets Felicity know exactly what kind of mood Oliver is in.

She tilts her head to the side, trying to mask the sudden wave of fondness and affection that floods through her body as she takes in the man in front of her. Instead, she gives him a pointed glare and pokes him sharply again, testing her theory.

“ _Hey”_ Oliver slaps away the offending kitchen utensil, maneuvering his hand around and poking at her side with ease.

 _Playful Oliver,_ Felicity thinks in awe. _Lighthearted, pink nosed, flower-pot breaking Oliver._

“Think of it this way,” Oliver starts, and Felicity instantly knows that whatever monologue she thought had been playing inside of her head was anything but internal. “It’s not going matter if the pots are broken if the flowers were going to die anyway - ,”

Oliver’s words break off into a delighted laugh as Felicity surges forward, forgoing the spatula for her fists.

She’s not mad – can’t be – not when Oliver is finally laughing for the first time in _months_. She wants to ask what had him clambering in through her window on an early Saturday morning – wants to ask about why he’s still wearing the same clothes from yesterday and looks like he spent the night on the cot in the Foundry instead of an actual bed.

She doesn’t though, not yet. Because each tiny insult that falls from Felicity’s mouth pulls another glorious sound from Oliver’s chest and she thinks she’d be perfectly fine spending the rest of her life right here in this moment.

Somehow Oliver manages to maneuver the spatula out of Felicity’s hand, and the laughter that falls from her lips lights the whole damn room.

“Oliver _, I swear to God_ \- ,”

“Uh, Felicity?”

Both Oliver and Felicity freeze at Emmeline’s words.

Felicity spins around quickly, eyes wide with shock.

Oliver straightens beside her, and when Felicity turns to glance at him, she’s stunned to see the small upturn of his lips instead of the hesitant expression she had expected to find.

He doesn’t look shocked at all about the Smoak girls’ presence. Felicity lets out a small laugh. _Of course_ he knew they had been there the whole time. You can take the man off the island, but…

“Hello Oliver,” Donna says softly, the warmth in her tone echoing a memory from not too long ago – a memory of bullet holes and Thanksgiving turkey and nightmares and a mother’s love.

“Hi Donna,” Oliver says, his voice low and just as warm. “It’s good to see you again.”

Felicity tilts her head up in question at Oliver, her lips mouthing ‘again?’ in confusion. Emmeline looks just as confused as Felicity and a tad jealous too, but Oliver just shakes his head with that same small smile.

Donna beams. She steps forward and grabs at his arm, pulling him towards the kitchen, and Oliver lets himself be dragged along willingly.

“You’re joining us for breakfast,” she says as they walk away.

Felicity stares at her cousins blankly. Emmeline’s face is twisted in a mix of disbelief and envy and it’s Aubrey’s bark of laughter that pulls them both out of their stupors.

“I fucking told you ‘Lis had Oliver Queen in her bedroom on Thanksgiving, Emmeline,” Aubrey snorts. She turns towards the kitchen to see Oliver chatting amiably with Donna as he pulls out the ingredients for French toast and she laughs again. “And now he’s making us breakfast. Fucking score.”

Aubrey reaches forward and links her arms with Felicity’s before marching them both into the kitchen.

Oliver looks up from whatever he’s mixing then, his eyes finding Felicity’s almost immediately, and even though the two of them have absolutely no idea what it is that is going on between them, the way he smiles at her lets her know that there’s _something._

So they all make breakfast and tell jokes and trade embarrassing stories and argue over what music to play and what constitutes the perfect piece of French toast. Donna giggles when Felicity ends up covered in flour, Emmeline makes her famous cheesy eggs, Aubrey proves to be a fairly competent and _extremely_ mouthy Sous Chef and Oliver learns what it means to be surrounded by people that love him again.

There’s constant chatter and spilt syrup and _way_ too many pieces of French toast and when Felicity sneaks a glance over at Oliver, he’s already looking at her with an expression so intense that it levels her whole world.

Their lives are loud and hectic and complete pandemonium – life and death and joy and sorrow.

But this?

This is tiny windows and broken flowerpots and stolen glances.

This is warmth and comfort and light and love and -,

“Hey Oliver? I’m – I’m really glad you’re here.”

Oliver smiles at Felicity, his throat too tight to say much. He covers her hand with his and steps close, his lips pressing lightly into her hair.

“Me too,” he whispers. “Me too.”

_This is home._

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed. PLEASE let me know what you think in the comments, they give me life!!
> 
> UPDATE: Here's the link for the story that precedes this one! It's in my other series _We Mend Each Other_. Check it out!
> 
> [Come to Me, My Sweetest Friend](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18112178)


End file.
